


Lessons In Etiquette

by IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Case Fic, Castiel is Not Oblivious (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dancing Lessons, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Not Amused, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Humorous Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Sam Winchester is Not Amused, Sam Winchester is So Done, Slow Dancing, Song: Can't Help Falling in Love (Elvis Presley), Undercover, crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt
Summary: To infiltrate a fancy ball, Dean has to take some etiquette lessons from Cas, and things escalate from there.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Lessons In Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wayward_sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_sherlock/gifts).



> uhhhh idk either

“You want me to do  _ what _ ,” Dean glared at his brother, the not-quite-question a low growl.

“Look, man, it’s nothing personal.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shifting awkwardly as he faced off with Dean in the middle of the bunker. “It’s just… we need to infiltrate the annual Baron’s Ball.”

“We can do that. I have zero objection to that.” The Baron’s Ball was held in Texas every year, in memory of a man named Aaron Baron who’d been a powerful oil tycoon in the forties. It was attended by the cream of the crop, all the peacocks of high society turning up in fancy outfits to schmooze.

The vengeful spirit of Aaron Baron was using the Ball as an excuse to pick off, one a year, the descendants of the man who’d murdered him for his fortune. Obviously, they had to get into the ball, protect the woman they’d decided was this year’s victim, and get rid of the spirit.

At no point did anything happen that would require Dean to take etiquette lessons. And certainly not from  _ Sam. _

“It’s nothing personal,” Sam tried again. “It’s just… Dean, you hold a wine glass in your fist. We have to blend in, man.”

“You blend in,” Dean retorted childishly, and stuck his tongue out.

Sam sighed. “Case in point. Dean, you’re going to be impersonating the cousin of a very wealthy English Lord who’s interested in investing in the oil business.”

Dean scratched his chest and took a swig of beer.

“An English Lord’s cousin wouldn’t do that.” Sam sat down, crossing his arms petulantly.

“Jesus - fine! Okay, I’ll do it.”

***

Whatever Dean was expecting to see when he walked into the library, Cas sitting there pleasantly in full evening dress wasn’t it. “Uh, hi,” he said.

“Hello, Dean. Sam has told me that you require a crash course in etiquette.”

Dean moved closer to the table, noting with trepidation that a full service table setting had been laid out. Sadly, there was no food on it. “Why doesn’t Sam have to do this?”

“Because Sam and Eileen are posing as waiters. You and I are infiltrating the crowd. Now, which fork would you use for the salad course?”

“There’s a salad course?”

***

Four hours later, Dean could (barely) manage place settings, and they’d moved on to how to carry out polite conversations.

“Pretend I am the elderly Mrs. Turnish, whose niece we need to save from the spirit,” Cas instructed him, putting on what he probably thought was a good prudish-elderly-lady face. “Begin a conversation.”

Dean scrunched his face up, trying to think. He’d been over this…. Mrs. Turnish. Very wealthy lady who’d gone through five husbands. She was big on the gold digging, and the niece in question, who was around Dean’s age, probably would be too.

Game plan centered firmly in his mind, he walked up to Cas-The-Old-Lady and shot him a suave smile, bowing slightly. “Madam,” he said, barely closing one eye in a discreet wink.

Cas, fully invested in the playacting, fluttered his eyelashes and swooned. “I declare,” he simpered in a ridiculous falsetto, “What a charming young man!”

“And what a lovely lady,” Dean continued, oozing charm. “But I’m afraid I must ask, did I hear that your lovely niece Gloria was around here somewhere?”

Cas sighed. “You’ve got to introduce yourself, Dean, and make sure you mention who you’re related to. Take it from the top?”

Dean stepped back, straightening the formalwear Cas had wrestled him into, and prepared to, once again, rehearse.

***

“That is not how you hold a wine glass, Dean. Between your fingers like  _ so _ ,” Cas demonstrated, “And then you sip. Don’t gulp, Dean. Dean. Stop chugging the wine, Dean.”

Dean put down the bottle guiltily. They’d been at it for hours, and his general rough uncouthness was being uncomfortably pointed out to him.

Sam poked his head in the door. “Is he doing any better?”

Cas looked up from where he’d planted his face on the table in despair. “I think so.”

Dean hiccupped and took another swig of wine.

Sam looked at them doubtfully.

“He really is doing well,” Cas hastened to reassure him. “We just need to work on the dancing now.”

“Dancing? Cas, what do you mean, dancing? I don’t dance!”

***

Dean sighed, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table while Cas got an old Men of Letters record player set up. “They like older songs, but they don’t go in for traditional ballroom dancing,” he explained as he fumbled with it. 

He settled a record on the player and gently dropped the needle in, waiting for the opening notes to ring out before he stepped out toward a clear patch of floor, holding his hand out in invitation.

Head spinning from the wine, Dean pushed himself up and reluctantly grabbed Cas’ hand. 

“I’m going to lead for this one, just move with me,” Cas murmured in his ear, pulling him rather closer than Dean thought was necessary, “Pay attention to what I do, and you’ll lead on the next one.” 

He started swaying gently, guiding Dean’s steps, as Elvis’ crooning filled the room.

_ Wise men say, only fools rush in. _

Dean inhaled, breathing in the spicy scent of Cas’ cologne. They spun slowly, Dean struggling to figure out where to put his feet.

_ Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things were meant to be. _

Cas spun him around gently, extending his arm out so that Dean could go under it, and for a second he got caught up in the exhilaration of dancing with his angel.

_ Take my hand, take my whole life too. _

They switched positions, Dean’s hand wrapping securely around Cas’ waist and Cas’ arms coming up around his shoulders.

_ For I can’t help falling in love with you. _

Their eyes met.

They stood still, wrapped up in each other, and Dean decided to take a chance.

Ignoring just about every brain cell in his head that was yelling at him to step away, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Cas’.

Then he turned tail and ran.

***

He was still avoiding Cas when the angel flew them into a motel parking lot in San Antonio the night before the ball.

He was still avoiding Cas when they made their way  _ into  _ the ball, and each went off in different directions to schmooze and keep a lookout for the spirit. If they could find Gloria, they’d be all set.

Dean squinted into the giant ballroom, hung with crystal chandeliers and walled with mirrors, all gilded and shiny and expensive. A low hum of conversation arose from the crowd crammed into it, men in evening suits and women in fancy, frilly dresses.

From his vantage point part way down one of the expansive staircases that flanked the room, he could see almost everything (in that room, there were two others) but he couldn’t really distinguish individual faces. Moving gently past a woman clad in a dress of peacock feathers (seriously, what the hell), he edged further into the crowd.

Three hours in, his head was pleasantly bubbly from the champagne. To his great delight, he’d found Sam in his waiter’s gear standing at attention holding a platter full of glasses of the stuff, and made it his mission in life to irritate his little brother as much as possible.

Sam had discreetly shoved him onto the dance floor, smirking as Dean was immediately swept into a waltz.

Dean had then taken great pleasure in watching over his partner’s shoulder as Sam got blatantly admired by an older woman, who seemed to want him to accompany her somewhere. Sam’s pinched face as he tried to respond politely was comedic gold, and Dean wished he had a camera.

Then, quite suddenly and accidentally, he was slow dancing with Cas.

“Hello,” Cas said in his ear, quite obviously tense and uncomfortable.

“Cas.” Dean looked around. He couldn’t escape without calling undue attention to them. “Hey, listen, about the other night…” He trailed off, unable to articulate what he was saying.

Those clear blue eyes scrutinized him. “I understand, Dean. You harbor romantic feelings for me, but do not wish to place our friendship in jeopardy.”

Dean stared at him, agog. “I - yeah. How did you… know that?”

Cas shrugged, executing a neat sidestep coupled with a spin. “Sam told me yesterday.”

Right. Meddling little brother. Made sense.

“And then,” Cas pulled Dean a little closer to him, so that Dean could feel the solid warmth of him through their clothes, “Eileen advised me to track you down here so we could talk.”

The song came to a close and they paused for a second, Cas reaching out and straightening Dean’s bow tie.

Then Elvis came on, singing  _ Wise men say.... _ And they were off again, swaying together.

“And then this,” Cas said, “I decided to do on my own.” 

Then he leaned forward and kissed Dean.

Dean melted into the kiss, deepening it, completely forgetting they were in a crowded ballroom on a case and just revelling in Cas being so close to him, wanting him back.

“Hey!” Yelled an irate voice, and they broke apart.

“Huh,” Dean said, looking around. “Forgot we were in a room full of old people in Texas.”

Cas squinted at him, obviously about to ask a question, but a man was advancing toward them, obviously intent on screaming his heart out, so Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and scampered.

Sam and Eileen could deal with the spirit, he had a Cas to keep alive and well.

***

“So,” Eileen hummed, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to Sam’s cheek as they wandered the nearly abandoned halls of the compound that housed the ballroom. “Gloria was definitely flirting with you after we rescued her.”

Sam looked baffled. “She was?”

“Sam, she stayed after the ball was over and everyone had gone home to hang off of your arm and chatter about how strong and brave you were.”

Sam flushed. “Aw, Eileen…”

“And she’s right, you are. But you’re also mine.” She tugged him into a deeper kiss by the collar of his shirt and he went willingly, the adrenaline from the successful hunt pounding through his veins.

She maneuvered him against a wall and molded herself against his front, and Sam was fully prepared to have a  _ very _ good time with his wildcat of a girlfriend right there in the hallway, until a door a few feet away from them opened and Dean and Cas stumbled out.

“Holy shit,” Dean said, throwing his hand in front of Cas’ face. “Button your shirt, Sam.”

Sam looked down. At some point, EIleen’s nimble fingers had indeed undone most of his shirt.

“Hey,” he said indignantly. “You’re one to talk.”

Indeed he was. Dean’s shirt was hanging off of his shoulders and his pants were unzipped, a trail of hickeys going down his chest. Cas was even worse, because Cas had  _ Sex Hair _ . And his mouth looked awfully swollen, and yep, that was a suspicious liquid right there on his collar, Jesus…

Sam was snapped out of his increasingly horrified trance by Eileen cracking up. “Seriously, guys?” she asked. “You picked the middle of a hunt with a homophobic horde of rich people out for your blood as the perfect time to have sex?”

“Hey!” Dean straightened up, managing to look offended while also thoroughly tousled and satisfied. “I had to walk in on you guys going at it in the library, talk about bad timing.”

Cas inhaled. “I did find a questionable stain on a book of Latin incantations once.”

Sam looked down guiltily. “Uh, sorry about that?”

“Okay, okay,” Dean interrupted, loudly. “Don’t need to hear it. Let’s go home and just agree that nobody bones in the library.”


End file.
